At the mention of his name, smiles faltered. Shadows crossed their faces.
Where was Clay?
My heart stumbled, the question burning on my tongue. I shackled it, swallowing the urge. They didn’t need to be reminded of whatever horrors they endured. If the worst were true—if he were dead—I would not drag them back into it. They witnessed enough cruelty to last a lifetime.
“Is the way clear?” I asked the Thresher waiting at the junction.
A small head pressed against my thigh, clinging close.
He nodded, gaze flicking over the children before returning to me. He understood exactly why I had paused to gush over a painting.
We moved on. Water slicked the walls as we passed, the stone darkened with recent scrubbing. The Thresher led us to a cluster of rooms where servants hurried in and out, preparing them for the noble children.
I stayed close, careful none were left alone. I kept them together, helping a nursemaid bathe and dress two small boys—brothers of five and seven. The younger ones shed the terrors of the past with startling speed.
Soon, giggles rang vibrant and free. I chased one boy with a towel spread wide, pretending to be a dragon ready to snatch him up. A playful roar escaped me as I wrapped myself around little Pey’son. He squealed, feet kicking, head tipped back in laughter. I spun once, carrying him toward the dressing room.
Freya appeared in the doorway, arms full of clean clothes. Her eyes widened. “Your Majesty!” She dropped the garments on a table and rushed forward, plucking the boy from my embrace.
My smile faltered as I released him. He wriggled to face me, then stilled, gaze dropping to my neck.
“You’re bleeding!” She set the now-sober child on his feet, tucking the towel snug around him. “Mind your nursemaid, boy. I must see to your queen.”
I glanced down. Evergreen silk covered my chest and throat. My fingers traced the bandage along my jaw, coming away damp. With a breath, I met her sharp stare.
“I’ll need fresh bandages before I take them to the dragons,” I said.
We shooed the boys toward the older nursemaid, who corralled them into their finery. Freya and I slipped into the hall, trailed by a Thresher I didn’t recognize. His red hair caught the light, black ink curling behind his ear.
I took Freya’s arm, halting her quick strides. “Stay with them. Make sure every trace of blood is gone. Gyrak and the others will still be on edge, and Tsunami could do more harm than good if she frightens them.”
Her lips pressed thin. “It’s my duty to tend to the Queen of Radaan,” she snapped. “Especially when she can’t seem to tend to herself.”
My brows lifted, hand settling on my hip. “You sound more like Edith every day.”
Her jaw dropped, then snapped shut. “I hope your bathwater is cold tonight!” With a huff, she spun and stormed back toward the heirs.
A silent laugh shook my shoulders, and I met the Thresher’s gaze. Hazel eyes, guarded and alert, held mine before sweeping the hall. He wore black, like all Threshers of Nyryn, even hishands encased in soft leather. Two throwing axes rested at his hips; a longsword balanced on the other side.
“What’s your name, Thresher?”
“Arin, my queen.”
I tilted my face toward his with a smile. “Arin, I’ve yet to set foot in Radaan’s healer offices. Would you be kind enough to show me the way?”
A flicker of amusement crossed his face, gone as quickly as it came. He bowed his head and stepped off. I followed through winding corridors, the lightness I’d shared with the children draining away, hardening into something sharp and ugly.
Staff who survived Tallon’s violent rise moved with purpose. The palace hummed now, a stark contrast to our arrival. It struck me how swiftly Kallias had restored order. A lifetime of rule showed in every command, every decision made without hesitation.
Yet destruction lingered. With the rugs pulled away for washing, bloodstains scarred the wooden floors. Each mark traced back to Tallon’s treachery. These people died because of him. Radaan hadn’t just suffered his reign of terror for a few weeks—it would linger. It would hang like a dark cloud, casting shadows for years to come.
Pain fed the fire in my chest.
He would pay for this—for the scar on my skin. For the torment he inflicted on Kallias. For every life shattered under his rule.
I’d make sure of it.
Chapter Nineteen
